you've got to mean it
by 33whiteroses
Summary: Hermione prepares for a long journey. Set in the summer prior to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Slight RHr.


Title: you've got to mean it  
Rating: PG-13  
Fandom: Harry Potter. Hermione-centric, with a touch of Ron/Hermione, but mainly just Hermione. Takes place right before Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Summary:_ "The measures they had taken to protect their families made him realize, more than anything else could have done, that they really were going to come with him and that they knew exactly how dangerous that would be._" Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, p. 99

It had been decided so many weeks ago, planned in her head so elaborately, conceived and re-conceived in so many fashions, that it was almost embarrassing when a simple root canal nearly brought the whole thing crashing down at her feet.

"So I told him that if he won't take the appointment next Wednesday, he'll just have to drive forty minutes to the practice in Little Shropshire and get it done." Her father frowned as he helped himself to a large piece of Shepard's Pie. "Not that I like having a monopoly, or anything of the sort, but if he can't do it on a date that's convenient for you or I, Anne, then --"

"But that's ridiculous!" Hermione slammed down her fork, her heart pounding. "You told me last summer that within a year you'd have Mr. Perkins trained to do all of your procedures!"

"Well, you know how these things go, dear. He's still only part time, and I know he's got a good degree, but I just don't feel comfortable letting him do these things when your mother or I aren't around."

Hermione bit her lip, feeling the edges of tears threatening to overtake her vision. "Dad -- Dad, you..." She trailed off at the bewildered looks of her parents. Forcing the venom out of her tone, she tried again. "What's that you both always say to me? 'The fountain of knowledge should quench many a thirst?'" She raised her eyebrows and tried to appear wry.

Her mother started to laugh. "Richard, I always told you that that expression would come round to haunt us."

"I suppose so," said her father, beginning to join in the laughter. "Right you are, dear. I'll inform Tom Perkins tomorrow that he'll be assisting me on next week's procedure, and that's that."

Hermione smiled at her parents, and even managed to eat a whole plate of dinner.

_"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means... you know... living beyond death. Living after death."_

"A magic show?" Her mother peered at Hermione over the top of her reading glasses. "I thought you weren't allowed to do magic outside of school?"

"Well, I'm seventeen now, so it's different." Hermione was clearing off the coffee table to make room for a feather and the jug of water she'd brought in from the kitchen. "Dad! Good, sit down on the sofa next to Mum."

Her father shared a quick glance with her mother, one which Hermione recognized to be a "oh, here goes Hermione again." They'd shared the same look before all of her practice book reports, oral presentations, and a three act play depicting the signing of the Magna Carta, complete with costume changes. It was filled with half parts amusement and pride, causing the same jarring feeling in her stomach that Hermione had been battling for weeks.

"Now then." Hermione waved her wand in the air with a slight flourish, shooting a few golden sparks as a teaser. Her father's eyes widened, and her mother's magazine fell with a plop into her lap. "You've taken so much pride in my high marks from Hogwarts over the past few years, I thought it was time I showed you a bit of what I've learned there."

"It would be nice to see where my tuition is going," her father commented, with a bit of a grin. Hermione took a small bow, and proceeded to float a feather in midair, transform the jug into a vase of flowers, and charm the coffee table into doing a short Irish jig around the living room. It was all things she'd been able to do since her first year, but it didn't really matter much, anyway.

"_You're the boss," said Ron, sounding profoundly relieved. "But I've never done a Memory Charm."  
"Nor have I," said Hermione, "but I know the theory."  
_

She wanted to practice, but she couldn't. It's for the greater good, she told herself, again and again, and yet she couldn't force her lips to form the words. She pointed her wand at the target, perched on a cushion at the center of her bed. Taking a deep breath, she found once again that there were some things she was simply incapable of, and doing this to her loyal companion seemed to be one of them.

Crookshanks was apparently determined not to make it any easier for her, as he stared back at her with wide eyes, making no attempts to flee or bite, until finally she burst into great and heaving sobs. He came to her and snuggled up against her chest, licking the salty tears from her cheeks, which only made her sob harder.

When she finally recovered, she put a few cans of his food and his favorite toys in a little bag and carried him down the street to Ms. Walker's house. Ms. Walker had taught at the local Sunday school for as long as anyone in her village could remember, and told Hermione she was more than happy to adopt her cat, and that yes, allergies were terrible, look at how red her eyes were! Hermione let herself cry on the walk back, and for the rest of the night in her room, before washing her face, changing into her pajamas, and telling herself that she could not afford any tears.

"_Assuming I survive our hunt for the Horcruxes, I'll find Mum and Dad and lift the enchantment. If I don't -- well, I think I've cast a good enough charm to keep them safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins don't know that they've got a daughter, you see."_

The owls between her and Ron grew longer and more elaborate. His words were smeared and crammed together on the parchment. _when?_ he would repeat throughout, and she found a variety of ways to avoid his answer. _Hermione _he finally wrote, _you just need to pick a date and do it. Come here right afterwards, I'll be waiting._ She wrote and tore up several letters of outrage and defiance, blasting him for his insensitivity and pig-headedness and composing endless paragraphs on the audacity of forcing her to _pick a date_. This was not a luncheon or a movie or some other pathetic social nicety that simply required the selection of a time, this was her goddam life. After she tore up the eight letter and swept the shreds into the rubbish bin, she circled July sixth on her calender.

_Ron and Hermione, now talking softly behind him in the tent, could walk away if they wanted to: He could not._

It was July 6th, 8:04 PM and she knew she just had to suck it up and do it already. Gryffindor girl, she taunted herself, attempting to rouse a streak of defiance, put on your bravery and do it already.

"Mum?" She fingered her wand, tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She was in the kitchen, one hand perched on the refrigerator both as a prop and as a way to hold herself upright. "Mum, will you come in here? I can't find the box of tea."

"Second shelf above the sink, dear," her mother called, her voice rising above the sound of _Who Wants To Be A Millionaire_.

"No, the box we bought the other day. The orange infused," Hermione responded, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming out.

"Alright, I'll come look then." She heard the sounds of the weathered sofa squeaking as her mum got up, the floor groan slightly as she headed down the hall and into the kitchen.

Later, she would call her father, with the stupid, feeble excuse that neither of them could find the teabags. She would relate it all to Ron in the darkness of his bedroom, staring vacantly at the Cannons soaring on the walls while explaining that she was pretty sure Dad suspected something, her voice was shaking when she called him, and how hard is it to find tea? She would explain to Ron until the early hours of the morning her heartache and her pain and sorrow and guilt and anger and _rage _against all that had led her to this. She would stare at him blankly and nod when he asked "So you mastered the Confounding Charm in just a few weeks? That's impressive, Hermione." As she continued to nod, she would begin to cry, and love the way he wrapped his arms around her in comfort, and cry harder at the guilt that raged inside her chest for what she had just let him assume. The weeks would pass, and she would discover that Ron was a little more grown up, and a little more serious, and maybe he had been for awhile, but she just hadn't noticed.

But it was right now, and she didn't know any of these things. Hermione saw her mother enter the kitchen, and pictured herself perched atop the high dive, ready to submit to whatever lurked unknown below.

"Hermione, did you check the..." Her mother trailed off, and before Hermione could stop to think about what passed between them as their eyes met, she raised her wand and let her voice carry, loud and clear.

"_Imperio._"

AN: I started thinking after rereading this book recently about how people make all sorts of sacrifices to protect the ones they love during times of war. And then the whole "greater good" thing made me wonder exactly how far people would go...

Quotes in italics lifted from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.


End file.
